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THE ECLOGUES 



VIRGIL 



£ranslaUti into ISnglisij "Stint, 



HENRY DUNCAN SERINE 

7 



^>v ** 



1868 



Printed for Private Distribution among Friends. 



To wy dear Wife 

SUSANNA CAROLINE SERINE 

On our Silver Wedding Day. 



To thee, who five and twenty years 

Hast journeyed down the vale of tears, 
Thy hand in mine, thy heart and mind 

With mine in true affection joined, 
I dedicate these feeble lines, 

Designed to point where Virgil shines, 
And make his tender Poems clear 

To English maidens' chastened ear. 
Thy smiles encouraged the essay, 

And watched its progress day by day: 
For dear to thee are wood and field, 

And each pure pleasure which they yield : 
And thou hast loved our WarleigKs bowers. 

And all its meadows pied with flowers; 
The gentle kine there born and bred, 

The sheep and lambs its sward hath fed? 
The hum of bees — the water's fall, 

And those sweet songsters one and all 5 



And, nestling 'neath the ancient trees 

Those cots secure from stormy breeze, 
Where dwell thy neighbours evermore, 

The humble and contented poor. 
'Mong simple folk and things like these 

The Roman Poet takes his ease, 
And like a stream that winds along 

Through a rich valley flows his song, 
Its rippled surface bearing trace 

That Heaven hath smiled upon its face. 
Oh scorn him not — though dark and blind 

To thy clear sight appear his mind: 
For noble was the Poet's aim, 

To raise by verse his country's fame, 

And win himself a deathless name ; 
And true and loyal was the love 

Which reverenced the gods above. 
And when he seems to soar on high 

Or hail some great one from the sky, 
We deem that on his spirit bright 

There flashed a ray of God's own light. 

H. D. S. 

Dresden, August 3rd, 1868. 



THE ECLOGUES 



VIE GIL. 



ECLOGUE I 



Melibwus Tityrus 

Mel. Ah ! Tityrus beneath the shade 

Of the wide-spreading beech tree laid, 

On Qatorfflpe'thou dost prolong 

The echoes of the wood-nymph's song: 

While we our country forced to leave, 
And those sweet fields — sad exiles grieve; 

We fly from home, thou stretched at ease 
Fillest with songs the listening trees, 
Thine Amaryllis' love to please. 

Tit A god to me this leisure gave 
Meliboeus, and shall have 
Due honour to his altar paid ; 
And many a lamb of mine there laid 

A 



& THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Shall prove him such, — for as ye see 

He lets my herds at liberty, 
Eoam where they will, — and this poor reed 

May freely sound — a poet's meed. 

Mel. I do not envy thee, my friend, 

I only wonder where will end 
This sad confusion, widely spread 

Through all the land. With aching head 
My flock of goats thus far I drive, 

And one I lead is scarce alive; 
Just now beneath the hazel shade, 

Hope of the flock, her twins were laid : 
On the bare flints her troubles came, 

I now remember to my shame. 
The heaven-touched oaks had prophesied 

Some evil soon would us betide. 
But tell me, Tityrus, — in truth, 

What god is this that saves from ruth ? 

Tit Oft, Melibceus, have I deemed, 

(Fool that I was — I idly dreamed,) 

This city men call Rome, to be 
Such as our Mantua we see, 

Where oft we're wont to drive our lambs 
To market from their bleating dams. 



ECLOGUE I 

As dogs with whelps resemblance share, 

And kids their mothers' image bear, 
So was I wont in this our state 

To measure humble things with great. 
But Rome doth raise her head as far 

Above what other cities are, 
As in the woods the cypress tall, 

Towers o'er the hawthorns, one and all. 

Mel. But what caused thee great Rome to know ? 

Tit. My freedom. Late she came and slow, 
After long years — when fall in yiew, 

My whitened beard unheeded grew. 
Of Galatea's love bereft 

To Amaryllis I was left ; 
Till then, of liberty no thought 

Or gold within my bosom wrought ; 
So long as Galatea's charms 

Detained me in her loving arms. 
Though many a victim from my fold 

Was sent to grace God's altar old, 
And cheeses rich the city fed : 

All unrequited, home I sped. 



4 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Mel. Now know I, Amaryllis fair, 

For whom those apples thou did'st spare, 
And why so sadly thou did'st call 

Upon the gods, I see it all. 
Dear Tityrus was far away, 

" Tityrus," the pines did say ; 
And every fountain and each tree 

In plaintive tones kept calling thee. 

Tit I could not 'scape from being slave, 

Nor elsewhere gods' protection crave ; 
What could I do ? To Eome I came, 

That youth I saw : — mine altar's flame 
Twelve days each year in thankful praise, 

To honour him, my friend, I'll raise. 
He granted ere 'twas asked my prayer, 

At once with condescension rare ; 
" Pasture your herds, boys, as of yore, 

And rear your stock, and fear no more." 

Mel. Happy old man, thy fields remain, 

And this is wealth, e'en tho' the plain 
With barren stones be overspread, 
And marshy reeds lift oft their head. 



ECLOGUE I 

No pasture strange shall fret thy ewes, 

Nor neighbour's flock disease infuse : 
Happy old man ! by well known streams 

And sacred founts, — trees shade thy dreams. 
Thy neighbour's hedge with willows twined, 

Inyites to sleep thine anxious mind ; 
Hyblasan bees its flowers among 

Shall lull thee with their quiet song. 
Oft 'neath the rock the pruner sings, 

And all the air with music rings ; 
Wood-pigeons wild, thy special care, 

Keep cooing hoarsely to thee there ; 
And from the elms the turtle doves 

Cease not to moan their tender loves. 



Tit The stags shall pasture in the sea, 

The fishes flounder on the lea ; 
The Parthian drink of swift Arar, 

The German of the Tigris far, 
When exiles both from native land 

They wander over foreign strand ; 
'Ere I forget the kindly glance 

That did my very soul entrance. 



6 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Mel. But we must go to distant lands, 

The thirsty African's hot sands. 
Or Scythia — and dwell beside 

The swift Oaxes' chalky tide ; 
Or seek the world-divided shore 

Of Britain, to return no more ; 
For ne'er to me the joy shall come, 

To see once more my Fathers' home: 
The little clay-built cottage dear, 

My harvest gone — the straggling ear ! 
For barbarous soldiers' impious hand, 

Is master now of my good land ; 
Those fallows rich — that harvest fair, 

Oh ! civil strife hath left us bare. 
Was it for these thy seed was sown, 

Meliboeus ? must thou own 
For these thy pears were grafted, and thy vines 

For these disposed in equal lines ? 
Farewell ! my happy flock erewhile, 

My she-goats dear, to keepers vile 
I leave ye now — nor more shall see 

In shady cave extended free, 
Your graceful forms upon the rock, 

In thicket hang — Farewell dear flock ! 



ECLOGUE I 

No more for you my songs shall flow, 
Nor me for guardian shall ye know, 

While on the flowery clover mead, 
And willows' bitter bark ye feed. 

Tit Yet here thou could'st this night reclined 
On leafy couch soft slumber find ; 

Ripe apples strew my garner floor, 
And chestnuts sweet, — of cheese good store. 

Long shadows down the mountains fall 
The villas smoke, inviting all. 



ECLOGUE II 



Alexis 



The Shepherd Corydon in vain 

Had tried Alexis' love to gain, 
His master's pet — and though he knew 

No hope was his — yet passion-true 
Mid the dense beeches in the shade, 

By the o'erhanging mountains made, 
With rude, untutored songs, alone 

To woods and hills, he made his moan. 
" Alexis," if thou dost not care 

For my sweet songs, — yet, cruel, spare 
My bleeding heart, nor bid me die. 

Thou seest the herds in cool shade lie, 
The lizards green in bushes hide, 

And Thestylis this hot noon-tide 



ECLOGUE II 

Doth for the wearied mowers dress 

A fragrant thyme and garlic mess. 
But thy swift footsteps while I trace 

'Neath the hot sun in eager race, 
The hoarse cicadas swarm the ground, 

And with their notes the woods resound. 
In patience long did I abide 

Cross Amaryllis' wrath and pride, — 
Was't not enough ? Menalcas, too, 

Though fair art thou, and dark his hue, 
Yet, lovely boy, complexions fair 

Trust not, — they often fade — beware. 
"White privets on the fire are thrown, 

Black whortleberries sweet are known. 
I am despised, — but dost thou know 

Who 'tis whose worth thou ratest low ? 
My herds are fine, and more and more 

Flows the white milk — my pails run o'er. 
Far on Sicilian mountains spread, 

For me a thousand lambs are fed ; 
New milk in summer fails me ne'er, 

In winter we have some to spare ; 
And when my cattle distant roam, 

I know the songs will bring them home : 



10 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Songs which Amphion, music's king, 

In Aracynthus used to sing, 

And make the mountain echoes ring. 
And call not thou my features mean, 

For in the calm blue ocean seen, 
With Daphnis' self I might compare 

If we may trust that mirror fair. 
Oh ! could'st thou but consent to share 

With me these acres poor and bare : 
With me in humble cot to dwell, 

And strike the deer in forest dell : 
Or drive my kidlings with a reed, 

On green hibiscus roots to feed ; 
Aided by me, 'twill not be long 

Ere Pan thou rivallest in song. 
Pan, who first taught the rustic mind 

The oaten straws with wax to bind, 

A Shepherd he, to Shepherds kind. 
Nor shalt thou e'er repent the pains 

That taught thy lips those dulcet strains, 
Think what would not Amyntas give 

If in such sounds his soul could live. 
A seven-reed pipe which once had known 

His master-hand, — to me alone 



ECLOGUE II 11 

Damoetas gave, — and dying spake — 

" Second to me its notes awake." 
Such was Damoetas' latest word, 

The envious Amyntas heard. 
Two kids, besides, well marked with white, 

On whom by fortune I did light, 
In vale unsafe, — and which two sheep 

"With milk support, for thee I keep. 
Tkestylis has many a day 

Prayed me to take those kids away ; 
It shall be done, — since now I fear 

No gifts of mine to thee are dear. 
But come, thou beauteous boy, behold — 

The nymphs, for thee now grown more bold, 
Their baskets full of lilies bring, 

The radiant Nais too doth fling 
Before thee violets blue and white, 

Tall poppies and narcissus bright, 
Anise and cassia sweet and fair, 

And every herb that scents the air ; 
TVith bilberries and marigold, 

A posy rare of blue and gold. 
Mild quinces, too, with tender skin,. 

My careful hands shall gather in. 



12 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Chestnuts to Amaryllis dear, 

And wax-bloomed plums whose worth is clear ; 
And laurels, you I'll pluck, and thee 

Sweet myrtle next, thou lovely tree — 

So blend your odours pleasantly. 
Ah ! Corydon, a boor art thou, 

Thy gifts Alexis please not now ; 
And if in gifts thou dost contend, 

To rich Iollas thou must bend. 
Alas ! what have I done, — beguiled ? — 

The boars my fountains have defiled; 
The south wind fierce hath forced my bowers, 

And scattered rudely all my flowers. 
But why dost thou like madman fly 

Whene'er thou hear'st my footsteps nigh ? 
The gods have dwelt in woods, my boy, 

And Paris, also, prince of Troy. 
Let Pallas in the cities dwell, 

Whose towers she built, and loves so well. 
To me the woods such pleasure give 

That I am sworn therein to live. 
The lioness the wolf pursues, 

The wolf askance the she-goat views ; 
The wanton she-goat loves to browse 



ECLOGUE II 13 

On the laburnum's flowering boughs. 
Each its own pleasure follows free, 
And I, Alexis, follow thee. 

Down from the ridge the oxen now 
Are bringing home the upturned plough ; 

And shadows lengthening attest 
The sun doth seek his place of rest. 

But love within me burns — Oh when 
Were bounds e'er set to love by men ? 

Ah ! Corydon, what madness now 

Hath chased the light from off thy brow ? 
Upon the elm half pruned remains 

The shrubby vine, and mocks thy pains. 
And is there nothing thou dost leave 

Of needful use, thy hands should weave 
Of osiers or soft rushes twined, 

While this sad folly racks thy mind ? 
If this Alexis scorns thee still, 

Another yet thine heart shall fill. 



ECLOGUE III 



Menalcas Damcetas Palamon 

Mm. Whose flock is this, Damoetas, say 

Does Meliboeus own them ? Nay ; 

Dam. iEgon's they are, who late to me 

In charge hath given them, you see. 

Mm. Poor sheep ! Unhappy flock ! He gave 
Your charge then to this hireling knave, 
Who'll milk you twice a day — poor dams, 

And starve to death your suffering lambs. 
His lord Neasra pets the while, 
And fears lest I should win her smile. 

Dam. Such charges, mind, should not be made 

By those of whom worse things are said ; 



ECLOGUE III 15 

We know when he-goats looked askance, 
And smiling nymphs withdrew their glance. 

Men. You mean when I cut Micon's tree, 

And with his vine-shoots made too free. 



Dam. I meant Menalcas when I spoke, 

The time when Damon's bow you broke, 

And arrows. It was in the shade 
Of the old beech ; and when he said, 

Poor boy, they were a gift — you cried ; 

You wreaked your spite, or you'd have died. 



Men. Whom can the masters now believe, 

When such as thou thus lie and thieve ? 
Did I not see thee unaware 

Take Damon's he-goat from the snare, 
While sharp Lycisca loud did bark ? 

And when to Tityrus I called — " Hark," 
" See, now, the way that fellow runs, 

Look to your ewes and little ones." 
You ran behind the sedge to hide, 

You scamp, it cannot be denied. 



16 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Dam. But don't you know that goat was mine, 
I won him singing at the wine, 

When Damon's pipe was forced to yield 
This goat the guerdon of the field ; 

He would not give him up, 'tis true, 
But owned that it was justly due. 

Men. What ! you beat Damon ? when, I pray, 
Had you a wax-bound pipe to play ? 
Have we not heard you in the lanes 

From wretched straw send dismal strains? 

Dam. Suppose we try, then, which sings best, 
To set this matter quite at rest : 
Here, now, I pledge a heifer fair, 

Two calves her swelling udders share, 
Twice to the pail she comes each day : — 
What is thy stake, Menalcas, say ? 

Men. I dare not pledge a single sheep, 

Such strict account my parents keep ; 

At home my father is severe, 

Unjust my stepdame whom I fear : 

They count each day the flock twice o'er, 
And e'en the kids must come to score. 



ECLOGUE III 17 

Two beechen cups there are of mine, 

Carved by Aleimedon divine : 
These are my stake, since Fool, you dare, 

They far surpass your " heifer fair." 
The pliant tendrils of the vine, 

And ivy with dark berries twine, 
By his skilled hand the bowls around : 

Their centres with two heads are crowned. 
One Conon, and the other he 

Who drew with compass land and sea, 
The nations all, — and did define 

When men should mow the harvest fine, 
And when the ploughman draw his line ; 

These never by my lips were pressed, 

But treasured in my chamber rest. 



Dam. Two just such cups for me he made, 
And in the centres he displayed 

Orpheus, who by his wondrous strain, 
Leads captive woodlands in his train : 

And where the cups the handles joined, 
The acanthus' lissom leaves he twined ; 



18 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

These never yet by lips were pressed, 
But treasured in my chamber rest. 

But could you see my heifer nigh, 
You would not rate your cups so high. 

Men. Nay, you escape not — I abide 

By your own terms whate'er betide : 

Let some one judge, — why, who comes near ? 
Palsemon, — he the cause shall hear : 

Now will I teach thee to restrain 
Henceforth thy insults rude and vain. 

Dam. Come on, then, since you list to try, 
I dally not, nor thought to fly : 
But, friend Palaemon, give good heed, 
Great is the stake and high the meed. 

Pal. Here on soft turf we take our seat, 
Begin, my boys, the time is meet : 

The fields with early grass are green, 
And Spring has clothed the woodland scene : 

And every fruit and forest tree, 
Its bud and blossom scatters free ; 



ECLOGUE III 19 

The loveliest time of all the year, — 
Thee first, Damcetas, will I hear : 

Alternate sing — alternate rest ; 

Such songs the wood-nymphs love the best. 

Dam. Begin my muse with lofty Jove, 

Who filleth all things with his love ; 
The earth he blesseth, and my lays 
By him accepted, rise in praise. 

Men. Me Phoebus loves, — for him I rear 
The gifts that to his heart are dear : 
His laurel in my garden grows, 
And hyacinth's sweet shades of rose. 

Dam. At me, my Galatea threw 

An apple, wanton girl, and flew 
Behind the willows, racing speed, 
But to be seen first took good heed. 

Men. Oft of his own accord, my friend, 
Amyntas here his steps doth bend ; 
Not Delia's face is better known, — 
My dogs his coming joyful own. 



20 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Dam. Pve found a gift my love to please, 
I marked it on the lofty trees : 
"lis where the wild wood-pigeons breed, 
For her their callow young they feed. 

Men. I gave Amyntas what I could, 

Ten golden apples ripe and good : 
I picked them off a wilding tree, 
Ten more to-morrow shall he see. 

Dam. Oh ! that my tongue could fitly tell 
"What words from Galatea fell ; 
Ye winds to heaven's hearing bear 
Part of what blessed the listening air. 

Men. Amyntas, 'tis no use to say 

You love me well ; if every day 
You go a-hunting the wild boar, 
I watch the nets for evermore. 

Dam. This is my birthday, Iollas, dear, 
Send me quickly Phyllis here : 
And come thyself, to grace the day, 
A fatted calf, you know, we slay. 



ECLOGUE III 21 

Men. Phyllis I love the best of all, 

For when I left her tears did fall : 
Her words were, " Iollas " (sooth to tell) 
" Beauteous boy, Farewell! Farewell!" 

Dam. 'Tis sad in folds the wolf to hear, 
Sad is rain to the ripened ear ; 
Sad to the trees the tempest's path, 
To me my Amaryllis' wrath. 

Men. Sweet to the young corn is the shower, 

Sweet to weaned kids the arbute's flower : 
Sweet to their dams the willow bough, 
To me, Amyntas, only thou. 

Dam. The learned Pollio hath long 

Admired my rude and humble song ; 

Pierian nymphs a heifer feed, 

For him who loves your verse to read. 

Men. Pollio, to greet thy poems new, 
A noble bull I rear for you : 
His homs already butt the ah*, 
His fiery hoofs the sands uptear. 



22 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Dam. Take him who loves thee, Pollio, home, 
With thee celestial fields to roam, 
For him may fragrant honey flow, 
And balm on the rough bramble grow. 

Men. Let him who Bavius doth not hate, 
Maevius learn to imitate ; 
With them to yoke the foxes try, 
And milk the shaggy he-goat dry. 

Dam. Ye boys, who pluck the flowers fair, 
And trailing strawberries, — beware ; 
In ambush in the grassy field 
The slimy snake oft lies concealed. 

Men. Proceed no farther, sheep, for know 
The firm bank 's but an empty show : 
Just risen from the foaming tide, 
The ram not yet his fleece hath dried. 

Dam. Thy she-goats, Tityrus, restrain, 

And drive them from the stream again ; 
When time shall serve, myself will lave 
Their fleeces in the crystal wave. 



ECLOGUE III 23 

Men. Drive in the sheep, Boys, ere the heat 
Dry up their milky produce sweet : 
If this continues, soon in vain 
Your hands will at the udders strain. 

Dam. Alas ! alas ! how poor art thou, 

Though richest pasture feeds thee now, 
My bull. To thee and to thy lord 
Love doth the same sad fate accord. 

Men. But these have no such cause to show, 

Why through their skin their bones should grow: 
Some evil eye's malignant hate, 
My tender lambs doth fascinate. 

Dam. Can'st tell me where the human eye 
No more of heaven can descry 
Than three ells' breadth ? so shalt thou be 
The great Apollo's self to me. 

Men. Tell me where those weird flowers grow, 
Which on their petals graven show 
The names of kings, and I resign 
All hope to call sweet Phyllis mine. 



24 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Pal. 'Tis not for me between you two, 

To pass a judgment firm and true : 
Each hath the heifer nobly won, 

And sure I am, — that never one 
Who true and tender love doth prize, 

Shall favour lose in woman's eyes. . 
But come, my Boys, turn off the rill, 

The meadows now have drunk their fill. 



ECLOGUE IV 



Teach me, Sicilian Muse, a nobler song, 

On shrub and brushwood we have dwelt too long ; 
These please not all ; if woods again we sing, 

Then must those woods be worthy of a king. 
The Sibyl's Rhymes, behold, are coming true, 

The order of the world begins anew ; 
The virgin now returns, and Saturn's reign, 

An offspring new descends from heaven again. 
A son shall now be born, — beneath whose sway 

The iron age shall yield to golden day : 
Aid thou the birth, Lucina, chaste, — for know 

Thine own Apollo rules o'er all below. 
Thy consulship, my Pollio, shall proclaim 

Through each great month, the glory of his name, 



26 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Should ancient guilt remain — within thy year, 

Its fading trace shall rid the world of fear. 
He comes gods' life to share, with gods to see 

Heroes converse, and with them aye to be, 
And with his father's glorious virtues clad 

Shall rule the peaceful world by him made glad. 
But first to thee, blest Boy, with liberal hand 

Shall spring the produce of the untilled land; 
The twining ivy with its berries crowned, 

And lilies with acanthus strew the ground. 
The goats untended yield their milky store, 

The timid herds the lion fear no more : 
Thy cradle shall produce its own sweet flowers. 

The snake shall die, and in the vernal bowers 
No poisonous herb shall live : Assyrian balm 

Shall spread on every side its healing charm. 
While on the praise of heroes, and the deeds 

Of thy great sire thine ardent spirit feeds, 
And virtue's self by bright example knows, 

Meantime the plain with golden harvest glows ; 
The thicket wild with purple grapes doth bend, 

And from the mighty oak soft honey dews descend. 
Yet of the ancient vices shall remain, 

Some traces still ; — a few shall plough the main 



ECLOGUE IV 27 

With ships, — the city's walls shall rise, 

And farrows deep the teeming earth surprise. 
Once more shall Argo chosen chiefs convey, 

Once more a Tiphys guide them on their way : 
Wars shall revive, and with his pristine joy 

The great Achilles lead the host to Troy. 
But when to man's estate thy stature grows, 

The sea no more the hardy sailor knows ; 
The ship no more the merchant's goods shall bear, 

For every land itself shall all things share. 
No more shall fields be hoed, or pruned the vines, 

No more the steers the sturdy ploughman joins; 
The wool no more with dyes deceitful glows, 

But on the sheep the fleece vermilion grows, 

And now 'tis saffron gold — now sweetly blushing rose. 
Such say the sisters three, whose hearts are one, 

Like our own threads the centuries shall run; 
Approach, thine honours take, the time draws near, 

Dear child of Gods, Jove's mighty offspring hear, 
Behold this wondrous birth creation own, 

Earth, sea, and sky beneath their burden groan, 
And bow with joy before the coming throne. 
Oh ! may to me such span of life be given, 

Truly to sing thy deeds to earth and heaven : 



28 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Not Orpheus' self shall me transcend in song, 

Nor Linus : — though unto the first belong 
His mother-Muse, Calliope the fair ; 

And Linus with his sire Apollo dare. 
Pan, too, shall yield in Arcady the blest, 

If Pan with me the wager shall contest; 
But thou, dear boy, — thy mother's heart the while 

Begin to greet with thy celestial smile. 
Long has she sadly waited for the joy 

Which thou must bring, — our hope, her darling boy. 
Smile, then, dear child, and make thy mother glad, 

Unblest the babe whose parents' face is sad; 
'Tis not for such the Gods their table spread, 

Nor such with whom a Goddess deigns to wed. 



ECLOGUE V 



Menalcas Mopsus 
Menalcas 
Mopsus, since thou and I are met, 
Our minds in concert duly set ; 
Thou skilled the flute's soft power to prove, 

With verses I men's hearts to move. 
Why should we not here take our seat, 
Where thick these elms and hazels meet. 

Mopsus 

Menalcas choose, the elder thou ; 

My will to thine should rightly bow : 
Shall we in yonder cavern rest, 

With the wild vines' spare clusters drest : 
Or here enjoy the quivering shade, 

Where zephyr with the leaves has played. 



30 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Menalcas 
In these our mountains, thee alone, 
Amyntas doth his riyal own. 

Mopsus 
Indeed ! 'tis said Amyntas vies 
With great Apollo in the skies. 

Menalcas 
But, Mopsus, let me hear thee sing, 

If Phyllis' love can tune thy string; 
Or Alcon's well deserved fame, 

Or Codrus' wrath thine heart inflame ; 
Begin, — and leave dull care behind, 

Good Tityrus the kids will mind. 

Mopsus 
Nay, by thy leave I will rehearse 

To thee, my yet unspoken verse, 
Which on the green beech-bark I wrote, 

And for the flute and voice did note : 
And when I've done, if such thy will, 

Let great Amyntas try his skill. 



ECLOGUE V 31 

Menalcas 
As to the silvery olive yields 

The waving willow of the fields, 
And the Valerian's humble flower 

Can never match the roses' bower : 
So in my poor judgment ne'er 

With thee, Amyntas can compare : 
But now no more, my Boy, for here 

Your shaded cave invites us near. 

Mojpsus 
Daphnis by cruel Fate to Hades borne, 
With bitter tears the wood-nymphs sadly mourn ; 
Ye hazels, witness, and ye rivers clear : 
And piteous 'twas to see his mother dear, 
When falling on the body of her son, 
In anguish sore that such a deed was done ; 
She cruel called the gods, and bright stars every one. 
No one that day my Daphnis was there found 
To cooling streams thy steers to lead, — around 
The kine dejected stand, — no heifer there 
Would quench her thirst, or taste the herbage fair. 
Thy death, oh ! Daphnis ! so the mountains say, 
And the wild woods, — e'en by the beasts of prey 



32 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Was mourned. The Punic lions groan, 

And sadly the Armenian tigers moan, 

Which harnessed, late thy chariot meekly drew, 

As Bacchus' erst, whose dance thou didst renew ; 

And teach again the willow spears to bind, 

With the dark ivy streaming in the wind. 

As on the trees a glory is the vine, 

As clustered grapes upon her branches shine : 

As all the herd the lordly bull commands, 

And glowing harvests crown the fertile lands, 

Such Daphnis is thy praise with those thou callest thine. 
Aye, since the Fates have taken thee away, 

Pales hath left the fields, quenched is Apollo's ray : 
And where the golden barley once was sown, 
Unfruitful darnel and wild oats haye grown : 
For dark narcissus and soft violet, 
The thorn's sharp spur, and thistles rough are set. 
Plant thick the ground with trees, bring shadows grey 
To shield the sacred founts from garish day : 
Ye shepherds, Daphnis binds this charge on you, 

And ye must raise his tomb, and add this record true : 
Here Daphnis lies, — to woods and heaven well known 
Fair beauty had his flock. Fairer his own ! 



ECLOGUE V 33 



Poet divine ! thy tender song 

Is welcome as soft turf along, 
When sink our limbs with toil opprest, 

Comes gentle sleep to seal our rest : 
Or as to bubbling brooks we run, 

To quench our thirst when flames the sun. 
Nor is thy flute alone the peer 

Of his, who was thy master here, 

But thy rich voice which charms the ear. 
But we in turn by verse will strive 

Once more his spirit to revive, 
And for he loved us too, will raise 
Daphnis to Heaven, in Heaven your Daphnis praise. 

Mopsus 
What greater pleasure could'st thou give ? 

The youth deserves in song to live, 
And Stimicon thy verse hath praised 

Already, and my hopes hath raised. 

Menalcas 

Daphnis in robe of purest white arrayed, 

With strange delight Olympus hath surveyed; 
c 



34 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Heaven opens wide to him her gates of gold, 
Beneath his feet the clouds and stars are rolled : 
Therefore the woods and every rural voice, 
Pan, the wood-nymphs, and shepherds all rejoice. 
TSo ambushed wolf awaits the herd to slay, 
Nor brings the net the noble stag to bay ; 
Daphnis loves peace and every gentle way. 
A hymn of praise from every wood-crowned hill, 
And from the trees he loved, — ascendeth still, 
From the tall cliff the joyful echoes sound : 
A God, Menalcas ; yes, a God is found. 
Be good to thine, a present God indeed, 
And when to thee we pray, propitious heed : 
Four altars, lo ! my pious hands shall raise, 
Two are for thee, two great Apollo praise. 
Two bowls for each of foaming milk I'll pour, 
Of oil two cruses from my purest store ; 
And when our feasts with copious wine we hold 
Before the blazing hearth in winter cold ; 
At harvest-time beneath the branching shades, 
While joyful dance around our boys and maids ; 
From flagons full shall flow the juice divine, 
A nectar new, rich Ariusian wine. 
iEgon of Crete, Damoetas too, shall sing, 



ECLOGUE V 35 

And with their sweetest songs the roof shall ring. 
Alphesibceus, ravished by the sound, 
Lite nimble Satyr in the dance shall bound: 
This shall be done, both when to wood-nymphs dear 
Our vows we pay, and when the fields we clear. 
While on the mountain ridges roams the boar, 
"While bees wild thyme delights, the fish the roar 
Of the hoarse torrent, and each morning's dew 
Doth for the grasshopper its food renew. 
So long thine honours and thy lofty name 
Shall through thy friends' dear love be known to Fame. 
As mighty Bacchus, — golden Ceres kind, 
Thou year by year shalt stir the rustic mind 
To thee their vows to make, in thee believe, 
And fear lest foul neglect its due reward receive. 



Mopsus 

How shall I thank thee for thy song ? 
Ne'er whisper of the southern breeze, 

Nor shore resounding to the seas, 
Nor brook, the rocks that bounds among, 
Did through my ear such echoes sweet prolong. 



36 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Menakas 
But let me first present to thee 

This flute, which erst in fancy free, 
" Warbled the wood-notes wild " and clear, 

My friends have often loved to hear : — 
" The shepherd Corydon in vain, 

Had sought Alexis' love to gain," 
And taught besides that other lay, — 

" Whose flock is this, Damcetas, say." 

Mopsus 
And thou, Menalcas, take this crook : 

Antigenes with wistful look 
Of me hath often begged it sore, 
But I denied him evermore ; — 
And yet his love was never scorned, — 
Beauteous it is with brass and equal knots adorned. 



ECLOGUE VI 



Long time with me in sylvan dell 

My Muse Thalia deigned to dwell, 
And taught me to restore again 

The ancient Syracusan strain : 
But when my swelling bosom tried 

To sing of wars and kingly pride, 
Straight to mine ear with touch of flame 

The great Apollo's whisper came : — 
" A shepherd, Tityrus, should feed 

His sheep, and tune a humble reed." 
So now by high behest enjoined, 

To rural scenes I bend my mind ; 
Well knowing, Varus, that thy name 

Will never lack the trump of Fame : 
For many poets will be found 

Thy wars and noble deeds to sound. 



38 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

But yet if Love should e'er inspire 

The mind of any with desire, 
These lines to read ; — My shrubs shall sing, 

And through the woods thy name shall ring : 
No song to Phoebus is more dear 

Than that which brings our Varus near ! 

Begin, Pierian nymphs, your song. 

Once in a cavern stretched along, 
In last night's wine his senses drowned, 

Silenus by two lads was found, 
One Chromys, one Mnasylus bold. 

Firm clenched in his tenacious hold, 
The heavy wine cup downward hung ; 

And from his head were lightly flung 
The wreaths which late his temples crowned. 

With these at once his arms they bound, 
In hope to win the promised song, 

Wherewith he had deceived them long : 
And Aegle, fairest of the fair, 

Bright Naiad, urges them to dare, 
And with the mulberry's rich dyes, 

Paints lightly o'er his cheek and eyes, 



ECLOGUE VI 39 

When waking up he spied their fan, 

" Unhand me, Boys," he said, " 'tis done," 
" Enough — you've seen. I'll give the song." 

" I'll pay thee off, fair nymph, ere long :" 
And then at once began to sing ; 

You should have heard the welkin ring, 
For at the sweet affecting sound 

The fauns and wood-nymphs danced around ; 
And e'en the sturdy mountain oak, 

Bowed as the strain his heart awoke. 
No greater joy the hills inspires, 

When Phoebus old Parnassus fires : 
Nor more at Orpheus' mighty voice, 

Did Thrace and Rhodope rejoice. 



He sang how through the vast profound 
Of universe, the seeds were found, 

Not of the earth and sea alone, 

But whence the breath of air was blown, 

And liquid fire ; — how All from these 
Had being : — and begirt with seas, 

This fair round earth herself hath grown, 



40 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL. 

Till 'gainst its firm compacted soil 

Old Nereus 'gan to rage and boil, 
And over each created thing 

Its mantling shape did Nature fling r 
Then saw the earth with dull amaze, 

The glorious sun's first orient blaze ; 
And fuller drops from heaven fall, 

As lifts the clouds' o'ershadowing palL 
Then 'gan the woods the hills to crown, 

And beasts to scatter up and down, 
In wonder, doubt, and strange distress, 

Along the pathless wilderness. 
Then came the stones which Pyrrha threw, 

And Saturn's reign so good and true, 
And kind Prometheus' furtive raid, 

By fell Caucasian birds repaid. 



And now he sings of that wild shore, 
Which hears the echoes evermore 

Of that sad cry to heaven upraised, 
For Hylas by his friends amazed ; 

Who lately at the fountain left, 
Now mourn him from their circle reft. 



ECLOGUE VI 41 

Then Maid we hear thy love-sick groan, 

Too happy if thou ne'er had'st known 
The lowing herds that pasture free, 

Or that white bull who rules the lea, 

And thy sad heart, Pasiphae ! 
Say, maiden, by what madness fired 

Thy wretched soul such love inspired ? 
'Tis said that Prcetus' daughters fair, 

With feigned lowings filled the air ; 
But none of these by frenzy led, 

E'er tried in such strange sort to wed, 
Although the dreaded yoke they fly, 

And feel for horns their foreheads high. 
Ah ! luckless maiden, thou dost stray 

On the wild mountains far away, 
While he beneath the ilex shade, 

His snowy form full softly laid, 
Among the hyacinths and flowers, 

On tender grass in woodland bowers, 
Unconscious all doth ruminate, 

Or seek afar some kindred mate. 
" Close nymphs your forest glades, I pray — 

" Sweet nymphs of Crete, and bar the way, 



42 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

" If by good chance my eager eye 
" The wanderer's footsteps should descry ; 

" Perhaps allured by pasture sweet, 
" Or listening to their trampling feet, 

" He follows to Gortyna's halls, 
" The kine whom Phoebus homeward calls." 



And then the maiden he described, 
Whom the Hesperian apples bribed : 

And with the mossy bark o'ergrown, 
How Phaeton's sad sisters moan, 

And from the river's bank arise 
As lofty alders towards the skies. 



Next by Permessus' sacred stream, 

How Gallus wandered in a dream, 
And by a beauteous Muse was led, 

To the Aonian mountains' head ; 
When this illustrious man to greet 

Kose all the choir of Muses sweet ; 
And Linus, whose fair temples round 

With flowers and parsley-leaves were bound, 



ECLOGUE VI 43 

The shepherd-lord of song, thus spake, — 

" This flute, the Muses' gift, awake," 
" And from the Bard of Ascra learn, 

" Who owned it once, the tones that burn, 
" Wherewith enchanted oft he drew, 

" Firm elms that on the mountains grew : 
" For so by thee must now be sung, 

" The source whence Gryna's wood has sprung, 
" That 'mong the groves to Phoebus dear, 

" Of Gryna most he'll love to hear." 

But how shall I the tale unfold 

Of Scylla Nisus' daughter told, 
Whose radiant form was girt below, 

By barking monsters working woe ; 
By whom Ulysses' ships were cast 

Into the boiling whirlpool vast, 
While sea-dogs round the howling shore, 

The trembling sailors fiercely tore. 



Or shall I say how Tereus, changed 
Into a bird, through aether ranged, 



44 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

For whom that dreadful dish was bared, 

By cruel Philomel prepared ; 
Accursed gift — his murdered child — 

Then how she fled unto the wild, 
But round her home to nature true, 

Hovering sad, her crime did rue. 

Last came the song which Phoebus taught 
To blest Eurotas, rapt in thought, 

Who hearing bade the laurels tell 
The words that in his bosom swell. 

Here ends the song, and to the sound 
The stricken valleys echo round, 

Till Hesperus, unwilling star, 

Through heaven's fields advancing far, 

The shepherds warned to hasten home, 
And count their sheep lest far they roam. 



ECLOGUE VII 



Melibmus Corydon Thyrsis 
Mel. It chanced that once upon a day, 
Beneath an ilex Daphnis lay, 
And to the spot together came 

Thyrsis and Corydon, — whose fame 
For beauty, and responsiye song 

Was equal known their friends among. 
Arcadians both, their flocks they tend, 

Thyrsis his sheep, the fair milch goats his friend. 
And here while from the biting cold 

My myrtles I defend — behold 
My she-goats' lord had slily strayed, 

And seeking him, beneath the shade, 
Daphnis I then perceived, and he 

No sooner saw, than called to me 
" Ho ! Meliboeus, hasten here, 

Thy goat and kids are browsing near : 



46 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

And if for time thou be not prest, 

Sit here awhile, my friend, and rest. 
See to the reedy river's brink 

Cows through the meadows come to drink ; 
Where Mincius gently flows along, 

And blends with bees his pleasant song." 
What could I do ? for I had none, 

(Phyllis and Alcippe gone) 
To shut away my weanling lambs 

From draining all their milky dams ; 
And yet the match now coming on, 

Thyrsis between and Corydon 
I longed to hear, — so to their sport 

For once must yield my anxious thought. 
And now began this contest great, 

Which these two Bards did alternate : 
Alternate verse — ye Muses dear — 

Is ever pleasant to mine ear. 
Thus Corydon began the song, 

Its echo Thyrsis did prolong. 

Cor. Nymphs of Libethra, whom I love, 
Grant to my song such praise above, 
As greeteth Codrus mine. 



ECLOGUE VII 47 

Or if, since he with Phoebus vies, 
Such power to me the God denies, 
This clear-voiced flute I dearly prize 
Shall hang on yonder pine. 

Thyr. Arcadians, weave the ivy fair 

To grace this budding Poet's hair, 

Though Codrus burst with spite. 
Or if his false and flattering tongue 
(111 luck to breed) my praise have sung, 
Protect from harm this forehead young 

With rowan — wreath of might ! 

Cor. Delia, this head of shaggy boar 

And long-lived stag's horns branching o'er, 

Thine altar now hath crowned. 
Grant Micon sport, and thou shalt stand 
A marble glory in the land, 

With purple buskins bound. 

Thyr. Huge bowls of milk, cakes sweet and fine, 
Priapus, yearly shall be thine, — 
Guard of my field and fold. 



48 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Thy bust is marble for a time, 
G-ive but my flock good lambing-time, 
Thou shalt be all of gold. 



Cor. Sweeter than Hybla's thymy air, 
Than ivy pale or swan more fair, 

Kind Galatea, come. 
If still thy Corydon is dear, 
Come, Nereus' daughter, when the steer 

Turns from his pasture home. 

Thyr. Bitterer than crowfoot of the mead, 
Rougher than Euscus, prickly reed, 
More worthless than the vile sea-weed 

May I appear to thee, 
If this day be not like a year : — 
Have done, for shame, thou greedy steer, 

Haste homeward o'er the lea. 

Cor. Let mossy fountains cool and deep, 

And vernal grass more soft than sleep, 
And arbute's speckled shade, 



ECLOGUE VII 49 

Defend the cattle from the heat, 
For now the hot sand burns their feet, 
Though burgeons every vine-branch sweet, 
Eed summer rules the glade. 

Thyr. Red gleams the hearth, the fire burns bright, 
Upleaps the oily torch's light, 
The walls with smoke are black as night, 

For now 'tis winter all. 
We care no more for north winds cold, 
Than wolf for numbers in the fold, 
Or for the banks the river bold, 

When Heaven's torrents fall. 

Cor. I love tall junipers to see, 

And shaggy chestnuts spreading free, 
And apples strewed beneath each tree, 

And autumn's smiling sky. 
But when Alexis is away 
From these our hills, (woe worth the day) 

The rivers all are dry. 

Thyr. Parched are the fields, the herbage dies, 
And Bacchus to the hills denies 
The vine-tree's grateful shade. 



50 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Comes Phyllis and the woods are green, 
And Jupiter hath changed the scene, 
With pleasant showers arrayed. 

Cor. Alcides loves the poplar best, 

"With vine-leaves is great Bacchus drest, 
In myrtle bowers doth Venus rest, 

The bay doth Phoebus crown. 
But hazels are to Phyllis dear, 
Whilst them she loves, — to me it's clear 
Nor bay nor myrtle far or near, 
Can match the hazel brown. 

Thyr. The ash tree is the forest queen, 
On mountains high the fir is seen, 
By rivers gleams the poplar sheen, 
In gardens reigns the pine. 
But queenly ash and fair pine tree, 
My Lycidas must yield to thee, 
If thou wilt oftener come to me, 
And make my dwelling thine. 

This I remember was the end, 

For Thyrsis could no more contend, 

Henceforth with us, there is but one, 
One name with all, — 'tis Corydon. 



ECLOGUE VIII 



Damon Alphesibwus 

Heard ye the shepherd-notes that ring, 

Damon and Alphesiboeus sing, 
The songs which struck with deep amaze 

A heifer — who forgot to graze, 
And watched the sounds, which e'en did pierce 

The hidden souls of lynxes fierce, 
While rivers left their ancient bed, 

And rested where the minstrels led ; 
Sing we these shepherds' noble song, 

That it may live in memory long. 

But thou, I know not whither led, 

Or o'er Timavus' rocky bed, 
Or if thou coastest by the shore, 

On which Illyrian billows roar ; 



52 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

When will it ever come — that day, 

When I thy noble deeds shall say, 
Or through the world thy yerses name, 

Which merit Sophoclean fame. 
My songs as from a fount, my friend, 

From thee derived, with thee shall end. 
Accept, my Pollio, the lays 

Thou didst command; and with the bays, 
Which on thy glorious temples shine, 

Let me this ivy chaplet twine. 

Night's cool shades had scarcely fled, 
Nor yet awakened from their bed, 
On the sweet grass the kine had fed, 

When on his staff of olive low 
Damon bending, voiced his woe. 

Damon 
Rise, Lucifer, and bring the day, 

That to its kind ear I may say, 
How by unworthy love beguiled, 

My Nisa on another smiled ; 
Then to the Gods, although in vain 



ECLOGUE VIII 53 

I call them witness once again, 
This my last hour I will complain : — 
Begin my flute to wake again, 
With me the old Maenalian strain. 

Old Maenalus for ever loves 

The pines that speak, the whispering groves, 
And to the shepherds' loves doth list, 

And to great Pan with wonder hist. 
Pan who first tuned the shepherd's flute, 

And bade it never more be mute : — 
Begin my flute to wake again, 

With me the old Maenalian strain. 

My Nisa is to Mopsus given — 

What may not lovers ask from heaven? 

Next griffins will with horses wed, 
And timid deer with dogs be led 
To drink at the same fountain's head : — 

Begin my flute to wake again, 
With me the old Maenalian strain. 

Mopsus, this is the happy night, 

Be quick, the new-made torches light, 



54 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

And see — they lead thy blooming bride, 
Scatter the nuts, blest husband, wide. 

Hesperus (Eta quits for thee, 
And shineth on thy revelry : — 

Begin my flute to wake again, 
With me the old Msenalian strain. 

Oh ! worthy husband hast thou gained, 

For whom thou hast all men disdained, 
And as for me and my poor flute, 

Thy fancy now no more we suit ; 
And e'en my she-goats vex thee now, 

And my rough beard and shaggy brow, 
Nor of the Gods' care dost thou deem, 

As other than an idle dream : — 
Begin my flute to wake again, 

With me the old Masnalian strain. 

Have I not seen thee, little one, 

In our garden gladly run 
By my gentle mother's side, 

With me, too, for thy loving guide ? 
To pick the dewy apples sweet, 

Which falling kissed thy little feet. 



ECLOGUE VIII 55 

I was barely twelve years old, 

But standing on the ground could hold 

The fragile branch, thine hand to aid. 

Alas ! I saw thee, cruel maid, 

I saw, and loved, and was betrayed ! 
Begin my flute to wake again, 

With me the old Maenalian strain. 



Ah ! now I know where Love was bred, 

'Twas where rough Tmaros lifts his head ; 
Or the hard rocks of Rhodope; 

Or haply far beyond the sea. 
The Garamantes, rude and wild, 

On the red desert reared the child, 
For not in our more gentle race, 

Can we his savage lineage trace : — 
Begin my flute to wake again, 

With me the old Maenalian strain. 



'Twas cruel Love one fatal day 

That taught a mother's hands to slay 

Her infant sons, — ah ! cruel Dame — 
More cruel she, or his more shame ? 



56 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Yes, cruel was the mother — true, 

But Love, the Boy, was wicked too :— 

Begin my flute to wake again, 
"With me the old Maenalian strain. 

From timid sheep the wolf may flee, 

Hard oaks gold apples bear for me ; 
In vain the bright narcissus flower 

Shall gild the dark-green alder bower. 
From the tamarisk mean and low, 

The precious amber juice may flow, 
Owls may in song with swans contend, 

To Tityrus great Orpheus bend. 
Orpheus who erst the woods did lead, 

Arion whom the dolphins heed : — 
Begin my flute to wake again, 

With me the old Msenalian strain. 

And now o'er all may ocean swell, 
And pleasant woods to you farewell ; 

For from yon tower on airy steep, 
I plunge me headlong in the deep. 

Yet take thou this my last bequest, 
Before I go unto my rest : — 



ECLOGUE VIII 57 

Hush ! hush ! my flute, nor wake again, 
For me the old Msenalian strain. 

Such Damon's melancholy lay — 

What did Alphesiboeus say ? 
Pierian Muses, soothly tell — 

Such wonders cannot all men spell. 

Alphesiboeus 
Bring forth the water, and around 

With fillets be the altar bound, 
And now the fragrant incense burn, 

And oily Terrain, which may turn 
My husband's cold averted mind, 

And make him to his wife more kind. 
Only songs are wanted now, 

To magic songs his soul shall bow : 
Forth, then my songs, away to Rome, 

And fetch my'Daphnis, lead him home. 

To magic songs it hath been given 
To draw the pale moon down from heaven; 

With songs Ulysses' friends deranged, 
By Circe into swine were changed. 



58 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

And men have known the snake accurst 
By songs transfixed, asunder burst : 

Fly then, my songs, away to Eome, 
And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

Three threads of divers colours twined, 
Around thy form I first must bind; 

Then three times round the altar go, 
Thine image to the Gods to shew, 
Odd numbers please them evermo' : 

Away, my songs, away to Eome, 

And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

Now must thou, Amaryllis mine, 
Three knots of several colours twine, 

And as each knot is tied, say thou, 
" The chains of Venus weave I now :" 

Away, my songs, away to Eome, 
And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

As this clay doth harder grow, 
As this wax figure melteth slow, 

Under the selfsame heat of fire, 
So soft, yet firm, be his desire. 



ECLOGUE VIII 59 

Scatter the salt, my maiden, now, 
And fire with pitch this laurel bough, 

As I for cruel Daphnis burn, 
This laurel crackles in return : 

Away, my songs, away to Eome, 

And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

May such love my Daphnis fill, 

As heifer seeking o'er the hill, 
And through the forest and deep groves, 

The noble bull she fondly loves. 
She lying wearied and forlorn, 

Among the sedges dense doth mourn, 
Nor dreadeth by the river's side 

The long night's chilly dews to bide. 
Such tender pains may he endure, 

A lightsome task for me to cure : 
Away, my songs, away to Rome, 

And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

Earth to thee I now commend, 
These relics of my treacherous friend, 

Which of his presence when bereft, 
As pledges dear, with me he left. 



60 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

I bury them beneath the door, 
His debt to witness evermore : 

Away, my songs, away to Eome, 

And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home* 

These herbs and this envenomed juice, 

For me did Moeris' self infuse, 
By him in Pontus culled — where grow 

Full many herbs for weal and woe : 
By these great Moeris have I seen, 

Kange like a wolf through forest green, 
And spirits of the silent tomb 

Eise at his bidding out the gloom, 
While his strong spells could wile away 

To other fields the harvest gay : 
Away, my songs, away to Rome, 

And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

Now, Amaryllis, ashes bring, 
And in the running water fling, 

Above thy head, nor backward look. 
If this last charm his spirit brook, 

"With which I will approach him now, 
To Gods and spells he will not bow : 



ECLOGUE VIII 61 

Away, my songs, away to Eome, 

And fetch my Daphnis, lead him home. 

But stay now — see the flickering flame 

On the dull coal this instant came 
Self-kindled. — Be the omen good, 

Oh ! have I rightly understood, 
I know not what to think, yet Hark ! 

Before the door doth Hylax bark, 
Can it be true ? or must I deem 

That all is but a lover's dream ? 

Forbear, my songs, for now from Eome 
Cometh my love, my Daphnis home. 



ECLOGUE IX 



! . 



Lycidas Maris 
Lycidas Whither, my Moeris, art thou boune ? 

Is't where the road leads — to the town? 

Maris Oh ! Lycidas, we're seen this day, 

And lived to hear the stranger say, 
This new possessor of our land — 

" Begone, old hinds to foreign strand, 
" These fields are mine." 'Tis past belief ! 

Now vanquished, sad, without relief. 
Since chance hath turned all upside down, 

My errand leads me to the town 
To our new lord, as prudence bids, 

(111 luck to him) to give these kids. 

Lycidas And yet they told me that the plain 
From where the hills recede again, 



ECLOGUE IX 63 

And with a gentle shelving sweep 

Slope downwards from their ridges steep; 

To where beside the water reaches 

Stand yet those old stag-headed beeches, 

All to Menalcas still belongs, 

Preserved by his delightful songs. 

Maris Thou heardest right, for so 'twas said, 

But songs must humbly bow the head 
When swords are drawn, nor more avail 

Than the Chaonian ring-doves' tale, 
To shield from fate their gentle lives, 

When through the air the eagle drives : 
And if I had not heard the croak 

Of the wise raven in the oak, 
Foretelling of some further woe, 

And warning me to 'scape the blow, 
Not Moeris, nor Menalcas dear 

Could be in living presence here ! 

Lycidas Lives there a man could plot such crime ? 
To think, that at the selfsame time, 
Menalcas, of thy presence reft, 
To me no comfort more were left ; 



64 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

For who like thee the Nymphs could sing, 

Or who could make such sweet flowers spring 
From mother-earth, or plant the trees 

"Which shade our founts, and woo the breeze. 
Or who would pour such verses free, 

As listening late I caught from thee, 
When to thine Amaryllis dear, 

Who charms us all, thou would'st draw near : 
" Good Tityrus, my she-goats feed 

Till I return, 'twill be with speed, 
The way is short, and, when they've fed, 

See to the brook that they be led, 
And while thou tendest them, take care, 

The he-goat butts, of him beware ! " 



Maris Or those he late to Varus sang, 

Which through the woods unfinished rang : 
" Varus, if Mantua remain 

Unwrested from our hands again, — 
Alas ! for Mantua we fear, 

To poor Cremona all too near — 
Our swans shall bear thy name on high, 

To dwell for ever in the sky." 



ECLOGUE IX 65 

Lycidas May thy healthy thriving bees, 

E'er eschew Cyrnean trees; 
And citysus they love so well, 

Make all thy heifers' udders swell : 
But now begin, my Friend, to sing, 

In my ears e'en do verses ring. 
The Nymphs Pierian taught me song, 

And shepherds deemed, yet deemed they wrong 
(For I would ne'er believe it true) 

That I was born a Poet too. 
For my poor verse I must not dare 

With China's even to compare, 
Or Varius' — such seems my song, 

As cackling goose sweet swans among. 



Maris Would that I could — but let me see 

If aught avails my memory. 
'Twas something too, a song of note, 

And thus it was, I think he wrote : 
" Come, Galatea, here, I pray, 

What pleasure is't with waves to play? 
The rosy spring is blooming now, 

And round the earth's rejoicing brow 



66 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

The flowers their varied chaplet wreathe, 
And o'er the streams sweet odours breathe ; 

The glistening beal-tree shades the cave, 
And vine-leaves soft their tracery wave. 

Come, then, let mad waves lash the shore, 
Come, Nymph, and glad us evermore." 

Lycidas But cans't recall those verses sweet, 

Which once my listening ears did greet ? 

When on thee singing I did light, 
Beneath the still pure air of night. 

The tune I do remember well, 
The words I cannot rightly spell. 

Maris " Oh ! why, my Daphnis, dost thou gaze 

Upward to the wondrous maze 
Of ancient planets, beaming bright, 

Which dawn upon the world of night ? 
See how through heaven advanceth far, 

Great Dionaean Caesar's star, 
A star, beneath whose potent ray, 

Shall spring broad harvests rich and gay : 
And ruby-red the grapes shall glow, 

On sunny hillsides where they grow. 



ECLOGUE IX 67 

Graft thy choice pear trees Daphnis, now, 
Thy grandson glad shall reap the bough." 



Unsparing time bears all away, 

The memory, too. In boyhood's day 
I oft have watched the lingering sun 

Go down, before my songs were done. 
Now, all my many songs forgot, 

My voice itself abideth not ; 
'Tis useless any more to try, 

Some wolf hath mastered Moeris' eye, 
Small matter — oft enough his verse 

To thee, Menalcas will rehearse. 



Lycidas Thy words but make me more to long 

To hear thee end thy pleasant song ; — 
'Tis silent o'er the watery plain, 

And, to receive thy welcome strain, 
Hushed is each murmur of the wind : 

And half the way is left behind, 
For now Bianor's tomb we see : 

So where yon peasants strip the tree, 



68 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Suffer thy kids to browse awhile, 

And with thy songs the time beguile. 
Or if to town thou must amain, 

Lest clouding night should threaten rain; 
Then sing we cheerly as we go, 

The less will seem our toil and woe : 
And to set free again thy song, 

Come let me bear thy load along. 

Maris Nay, but to business first attend, — 

To songs when He is come, my Friend. 



ECLOGUE X 



Gallus 
Grant, Arethusa, once again, 

This one this last Sicilian strain, 
To Gallus now I fain would sing, 

Some lines that in the ears may ring, 
Of his Lycoris dear. And who 

Would grudge a song to Gallus due ? 
Grant this, and when beneath the tides 

Of Sicily thy streamlet glides, 
I'll Doris pray, who rules the sea, 

That never salt wave mix with thee. 
Come, let us sing his love and care. 

While on young shoots my she-goats fare ; 
We sing to no deaf ears — for nigh 

The woods all listen, and reply. 

What groves were they, and where the glades 
That hid you in their secret shades, 



70 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

Ye Naiads, that ye never knew 

When Love unkind my Gallus slew ? 
For surely not Parnassus' height, 

Nor Pindus' ridges bounding sight, 
Nor Aganippe's sacred spring 

Detained you, where the Muses sing. 
Bright laurels wept him evermore, 

The lowly tamarisks wept sore ; 
And Maenalus who saw him lie 

Beneath the lone rock woefully, 
In pity bowed his pine-crowned head; 

And tears Lycoeus' cold rocks shed. 
The gentle sheep which stand around, 

Poet divine, in tears are drowned : 
Despise them not, their love is true, 

The beautiful Adonis too 
Was not ashamed his flock to feed, 

And by the river's side to lead. 



The shepherd came, and swineherds slow, 
And hands all reeking from the trough 

Of winter's nuts, Menalcas came. 

11 Whence cry they, whence this fatal flame ? ' 






ECLOGUE X 71 

The great Apollo's self drew near, 

And whispered kindly in his ear, — 
" Gallus, art mad ? Lycoris fair 

" Through snows and bristling camps doth dare 
" Another love to seek, — Forbear ! " 
Sylvanus came, whose head did bend 

With honours as the Farmer's friend, 
And shook his wreath of fennel light, 

And towering lilies gleaming bright. 
Pan came, the god of Arcady, 

(Whom I was privileged to see — 
The temples of his radiant head 

With elder berries blushing red — ) 
" Hath grief no limits then ? " said he, 

lt Love cares not for such things — not he — 
Tears no more sate him than the rain 

Can ever sate the thirsty plain, 
Or cytisus' delightsome boughs 

The bees which suck or goats which browse." 
Sad he replied, " yet shall ye sing 

These things, and make your mountains ring, 
Arcadian shepherds, ye alone 

Are skilled to wake the song's sweet tone. 
Oh ! gently would my limbs repose, 



72 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

If your clear flutes could sound my woes ; 
And would the happy lot were mine, 

As one of you to prune the vine, 
Or guard the flock, for surely there 

Amyntas' self, or Phyllis fair — 
What of Amyntas' swarthy hue ? 

The whortle 's dark, the violet blue — 
If either 'neath the willow bough, 

Or pliant vine were with me now, 
Phyllis with flowers would braid my hair, 

Amyntas sing away my care. 

Here are cool founts, Lycoris dear, 

Soft turf and shady groves are near : 
Here would I spend my peaceful age, 

With thee to share my hermitage. 
Yet me hath maddening Love now driven, 

Where men in arms have fiercely striven ; 
In panoply of cruel Mars, 

To fight the foe in distant wars ; 
And thou from home and country too, 

Self-banished, can it all be true ? 
'Mid Alpine snows and frosts of Rhine 

Alone dost range, nor help is mine ! 



ECLOGUE X 73 

Ah ! should the frost thy frame subdue, 

And jagged ice thy feet pierce through ! 
But treasured lines with me remain, 

(Part of an old Chalcidian strain,) 
To these I would the music suit, 

Of some Sicilian shepherd's flute : 
For, well I wot can love forlorn, 

'Mong savage beasts, in woods be borne, 
Where all my grief in words of might, 

On tender bark these hands shall write, 
That as the tree doth heavenward grow 

May mount the story of my woe ! 
Then with the Nymphs I'll traverse o'er 

Great Masnalus, and hunt the boar : 
Nor shall the winter's bitter cold 

Eestrain from chase my spirit bold, 
For many a fleet and trusty hound 

Parthenian glades shall ring around. 
Through echoing woods I seem to race, 

And o'er^the rocks pursue the chase, 
And like the Parthian draw the bow, 

And hurl Crete's arrows winged with woe ; — 
As if such things could passion tame, 

Or'move that god to quench its flame ! 



74 THE BUCOLICS OF VIRGIL 

No Dryad nymph can bring relief, 

Nor song assuage my bitter grief ; 
Away ye woods, ye please no more, 

Love alters not for evermore. 
No deeds of mine with him prevail, 

Not though I trace the icy vale 
Of Hebrus, in the winter wild, 

And drink his stream, like Thracia's child. 
'Twere vain to brave Sithonian snow, 

Or breast the wintry torrent's flow ; 
Or where red Cancer rules the sky, 

And on the elm the bark doth die, 
An Ethiopian shepherd true, 

To watch my sheep, and patient rue. 
Love conquers all, so we must yield 

To him, ere fought, the stricken field." 



Pierian Nymphs, your Poet's song, 
What boots it farther to prolong, 

While here he sits, and deftly weaves 
His baskets of hibiscus-leaves ? 

Deign yet, ye goddesses, to raise 
On high these lines, which Gallus praise : 



ECLOGUE X 75 

Gallus for whom my love in power 

Increaseth ever, hour by hour; 
As in young spring the alder green, 

Higher and higher still is seen. 
But let us rise and leave the shade, 

Where we too long our limbs have laid : 
A baneful shade o'er those who sing, 

The juniper is known to fling, 
And sorely doth the ripening ear 

The trees' o'ershadowing branches fear. 
Home, then, my she-goats, browse no more, 

See, Hesper comes, the day is o'er. 



W. & E\ Dawson, Printers, Market Place, Bath. 



